


let me be the wallpaper that papers up your room

by aliceinacoma



Category: To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 01:25:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16231328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceinacoma/pseuds/aliceinacoma
Summary: "Can I kiss you?"He knows she'll say yes, but he wants her to tell him this time, wants to know that what transpired between them was as good for her as it was for him. He's never felt that way about anyone before, but it's not scary. It's just right.





	let me be the wallpaper that papers up your room

Personally, Peter blames those boots. 

Well, not the boots alone, but the boots-and-short-skirt combo that's making him drop a letter grade in all of his classes. And, yes, he's determined to be incredibly respectful of Lara Jean's lack of experience - and frankly, anxiety - regarding sex, but her love for vintage miniskirts really doesn't make it easy on him. Really, how much is he to blame if his brain goes rogue?

Except, well, his thoughts recently have gotten much more...specific. And detailed. And persistent. In particular, he's developed this specifically, persistently detailed fantasy about fingering Lara Jean under the table in the back North West corner of the library. He can imagine the blissed-out face she'd make as he slid his fingers into her, the tiny moans she wouldn't be able to silence, the feel of her tense and wet around his fingers. 

It's like honestly the hottest thing he's ever thought about - and way hotter than anything he ever did with Gen. 

Cause sex with Gen - it was fun, don't get him wrong. He  _enjoyed_ himself, but Peter's beginning to suspect that he and Gen had only had sex because they were  _supposed_ to. His  _wanting_ Gen was a blip compared to the desire he carries around for Lara Jean like an extra backpack. 

Enough that he's fantasizing about vague exhibitionism during school hours. 

"Hi," Lara Jean says, pulling him out of his head as she bounces up to him in the cafeteria. She's decked out in those boots and a short, pleated grey skirt with black socks that end just below her knee. Suddenly, he wishes they were somewhere alone, where he could slowly trace the back side of her knee without getting any weird looks. 

"Hey," he says and leans in for a brief, albeit sweet, peck on the lips as she settles in next to him, close enough that her bare thigh rests against his leg, and he can feel the warmth emanating there. 

God, she's going to be the death of him.

\--

Cause here's the thing: there's no way he can bring up this fantasy to Lara Jean. They've made out plenty - he's even touched her boobs,  _twice,_ but only over her shirt - and though Lara Jean always seems pleased by the contact, she never initiates any further. Peter's not about to pressure her otherwise. He's not just dating her for sex, after all; he meant it when he said he was in love with her. 

And he's perfectly fine to keep on with things this way until  _it_ happens. 

It's an accident. They're in her room studying, and she gets stuck on a problem, which is rare for her, so she starts cleaning, of all things - also rare for her. And it's just that when she's bending over to gather up all her clothes to throw them into her hamper, her skirt rides up just enough that he can see she's wearing baby blue lacey underwear, and, god help him, he loses it. Over  _that._

Unable to control himself, he whimpers - yes,  _whimpers,_ like a fucking dog - and slides down on her bed to cover his face. How is it that just the slightest glimpse of her panties sends him into a state? When did he become so ridiculous?

Lara Jean stands back upright, turning to him, the furrow of confusion and worry settling between her brow. 

"You okay?" she asks, taking a few steps closer. Embarrassed, Peter sinks even further into the bed with a groan, which only encourages her to cross all the way over to the bed and poke him. 

"What's up, Kavinsky?" she asks with small smile. He looks at her through his fingers. 

"Nothing," he says unconvincingly. 

"Didn't sound like nothing." 

Her smile widens a little, and she does the worst thing possible by climbing onto the bed to straddle him. His hands go instinctively to her hips. 

"What's wrong?" she asks, leaning down so they're chest-to-chest, mouths inches apart. 

"It's fine, really," he insists, kissing her softly. "You're just really hot is all."

She blushes, but she can't stop her grin. "Really?"

" _Really,_ " he assures her, his hands rubbing little circles into her hips. Then, because he struggles with his filter around her, he adds, "You have no idea the dirty stuff I'd do to you."

At his words, she curls up into herself a little, sitting up, her blush intensifying, and he curses himself for saying anything. He should apologize, laugh it off, anything to make this less uncomfortable. 

Instead, he makes it worse. "Sorry. I - I shouldn't have... But you know, like, I do want to have sex with you. I mean, if you want to. Not now! But like, like someday. I think that would be...nice." 

_Nice? Jesus Christ, Kavinsky._

The thing about dating Lara Jean, though, is that she always knows what he means even when he can't get the words out right. That smile she gets whenever he says something she finds lovely creeps back onto her face, and she leans forward so her dark hair teases his face. 

"What do you want to do to me, Peter Kavinsky?" she asks with a boldness he only gets rare glimpses of. 

"Uh...really?" 

She nods, and he takes a deep breath because this is something he and Gen never did, talking about sex. They had it, a lot, but they never talked about how it should be or go or even what would make it better for both of them. The thought of putting his desires into words - especially to Lara Jean, who loves words above all - is nerve-wracking. He squeezes her hips for moral support and picks through the multitude of fantasies he's developed about her. 

"Um," he says. "You know I hate when you wear knees socks." 

She tilts her head, confused. "Why?"

"Because your thighs drive me crazy," he explains, his hands gliding smoothly from her hips to the exposed area of her leg. She shivers just a hint at his touch, and Peter takes that as encouragement to keep going. "Sometimes when I see you standing at your locker, I just want to come up and trace my finger up the inside of your leg." 

He watches her face; she swallows hard. 

"But really I'd like to lick it," he admits, and somehow this isn't embarrassing - not with her face like that: cheeks flushed, lips open, eyes quickly turning into dark pools of desire. Maybe he was wrong to think of Lara Jean as this terrified virgin. She certainly doesn't seem terrified now, perched over him like a goddess. 

"I wanna lick lots of parts of you," he admits. "The...obvious parts, but also, like..." Instead of finishing the sentence, he takes her hand and turns it over so he can run his tongue along the inside of her wrist. She whimpers the way he did before, her eyes fluttering shut, but they're back on his face when his tongue moves to her index figure and he starts to suck on it. 

"Peter," she says a little breathlessly. 

A loud knock at the door breaks them apart immediately, sending her tumbling to the floor and him rolling over in the opposite direction. Lara Jean bursts into laughter as she lands in a heap, mostly, he assumes, out of shock. Kitty opens the door slowly. 

"What're you guys doing?" she asks, skeptical. 

Lara Jean can't catch her breath enough to answer, so he just gives Kitty his most charming smile and offers, "Homework?" 

She doesn't look convinced. "Okay... Are we gonna watch Golden Girls or what? You promised."

Lara Jean finally gets her laughter under control and sits up. "We'll be there in a second, Kitty." 

"Suuuuure," the younger Covey says with a quirked eyebrow. She stares Peter down briefly before fleeing back to the living room. Lara Jean collects herself and turns to Peter once she's gone. 

"We probably shouldn't keep her waiting," she says, looking one hundred percent less flustered than he feels. In fact, she looks oddly content, given that they were just interrupted in the middle of something very intimate, and, yeah, wow, who knew that Lara Jean could possibly get hotter to him by doing absolutely nothing? 

"Yeah, but first," he says, sliding over to her. "Can I kiss you?" 

He knows she'll say yes, but he wants her to tell him this time, wants to know that what transpired between them was as good for her as it was for him. He's never felt that way about anyone before, but it's not scary. It's just right. 

She smiles, touching the side of his face. "Absolutely you can, Peter Kavinsky," she says, and her mouth on his is nice and deep and slow. 

\--

From there it all kind of spirals, honestly. Apparently, once Lara Jean got a taste for all of Peter's secret-most desires, she had no intention of going back. Not that she's like jumping him in public or anything - she's still Lara Jean at the end of the day - but Peter starts having to monitor how much time they can spend alone because if they're not careful they'll just end up having sex without any  _planning_ involved, and he wants Lara Jean's first time to be special. 

He wants  _their_ first time to be special. Which, not that he's bragging, he thinks is kind of admirable for a seventeen year old boy. 

But he's starting to think Lara Jean doesn't care. 

They're making out in his car when he drives her home after a date night; the making out is a pretty regular occurrence at this point because there's nothing he likes better than kissing Lara Jean, but this time when he touches her breast, she takes his hand and places it under her shirt, encouraging him upward. 

He pulls away, a little thrown. "Whoa, whoa, are you sure?" 

She bites her lip, eyes wide. "Yeah," she says. A fierce blush blooming on her cheeks, she adds softly, "I, uh, I wouldn't mind knowing what other stuff you want to do to me." 

Well, here's a good place to start. And in her bedroom, and under the bleachers, and in an abandoned classroom where they almost get caught by their Lit teacher - those, apparently, are all good places as well. Peter would say they're behaving like hormonal teenagers except  _that's what they are._

Somehow, even his mom sitting him down to give him the, "I swear to God, Peter Kavinsky, if you make that girl feel uncomfortable in any way" talk doesn't dampened the mood because he goes out later that night and sticks his fingers in Lara Jean's pussy for the first time. The sight of his fingers disappearing under her skirt accompanied by the little "oh," she forms with her lips makes him want to die from happiness. Or desire. Either way is fine by him. 

He'd happily let her murder him any day. 

\--

Greg's party is actually supposed to be an opportunity for them to stop touching each other for five seconds, because Peter thinks they could probably use a breather from all the heavy petting, but unsurprisingly they end up in Greg's guest room, alone. They're just staring at each other at first, her hands tracing his jaw, but then she gets up and locks the door. When she comes back, she doesn't sit down next to him, instead she sits on the floor in front of him, laying her hands on her knees, a determined, apprehensive look on her face. 

"Whatcha doing down there?" he asks, sliding a strand of her hair behind her ear. She takes a minute to answer. 

"Peter, you always..." she hesitates. "You always make me feel really good, and I want to make you feel that way too." Her hands slide further up his legs, stopping just before reaching his crotch, and Peter can feel the blood starting to rush away from his brain. 

"Making you feel good makes me feel good," he tells her, sincerely, and she smiles, shaking her head at him slightly. Arching up, she kisses him deeply, her tongue sliding over his bottom lip the way she knows will make him whimper, and then, suddenly, her hand is sliding over his crotch, rubbing his dick. He breaks the kiss, shocked. 

"Uhhhh, what are you doing?" he asks, his voice jumping half an octave higher. She leans back, embarrassed. 

"Um, do you not want me to...?" She can't finish the sentence, and she's not looking at him anymore. Even when he reaches out to touch her shoulder, she flinches away a little. 

"No, no, Lara Jean, I mean, I do, I just... " he can't finish the sentence, and she leans back even further. 

"Is it cause you think I'll be bad at it?"

"What?"

"I mean, I've never done it before, so I could be bad, I don't know, I just thought - " Tears appear in the corners of her eyes, and she wraps her arms around her middle tightly. 

Peter's on the floor next to her immediately. "Hey. No. Believe me, Lara Jean, whatever you were gonna do, I guarantee you were gonna be good at it," he tells her seriously. Then, wiping a tear from her eye, he adds, "And honestly, even if you were bad, I still would have found it incredibly hot." 

She rolls her eyes at him. "Yeah, sure."

"Covey, I can barely watch you walk down the hall. It's going to be seriously life-ending for me if you ever, uh...do what you were about to do." 

She grins a little. "Then why did you stop me?"

He makes a face. "Cause it's kind of...messy?" Her eyes widen. "I mean, like, it would be fun, but I don't know if I really wanna do that here, in Greg's guest room, you know?"

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that," Lara Jean admits, calmer now. She scoots closer to Peter, laying her forehead on his shoulder as he strokes her back. He wonders what it means that he kind of likes this stuff better than sex. "You do want that, though, some time?"

"Sure," he says brightly. "I mean, only if you want to, though. I don't want you to do things just because you think I want them cause honestly I'd be cool just to kiss you forever."

She tilts her head, considering. "I think I want to." Then proudly she adds, "You're not the only one who wants to do some licking." 

Peter groans, tugging her onto his lap. "See, people, think you're all innocent, Covey, but I know you're secretly totally nasty. It's all those bodice rippers." 

Lara Jean giggles, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "No," she says softly in his ear, "it's you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Alt-J's "Every Other Freckle."


End file.
